The desert screamed around them. Pillars of fire erupted, carving the barren sands into jagged towers. Lucien and Kairo moved in perfect unison, blades and bloodsteel slicing through debris and illusions conjured by Veythar, yet the Revenant remained unnervingly calm.
Ashveil stood just behind them, wiping blood from his chin with one hand while the other traced arcs in the air, leaving trails of void energy. His grin was jagged, almost predatory.
"You've always been too impulsive," Veythar said, voice smooth as molten glass. "I can see it in your movements, Ashveil. Always seeking to strike before understanding. Always performing."
Ashveil's eyes narrowed, cloak snapping unnaturally. "And you? Command without heart. All power, no purpose. That's what they fear in you, isn't it? That a kingdom kneels not because of you, but because they must?"
Veythar's lips curved into a faint smile. "Names matter, brother. Power without history is meaningless."
Lucien and Kairo exchanged glances, waiting as the two Revenants circled each other. The air thickened. Every movement Ashveil made drew shadows that whispered faintly, remnants of the void that had birthed him. Veythar's own steps burned the sand beneath him with controlled fire, each footfall a command over the battlefield itself.
Ashveil spoke between strikes, a half-laugh underlined with grit. "I am Ashveil. The Revenant of Shadows, born from the edge of the White and the remnants of a fallen dynasty. I am the blade that walks in silence, the echo that strikes unseen. My path… it is mine alone."
Veythar's eyes narrowed, the molten gold shifting to a molten white-hot intensity. "And I… am Veythar. The Revenant of Dominion. Born from the same source, yes, but tempered by ambition. Where you act, I command. Where you linger in shadows, I burn everything visible into submission. Do not mistake my restraint for weakness, Ashveil."
Lucien's grip tightened. The naming, the tones, the history—it all revealed the depth of what he faced. These were not mere fighters; they were forces of nature, embodiments of legacies born from the White, shaped into living weapons.
Veythar gestured lazily, and the desert floor exploded in dozens of controlled eruptions. "You two," he said, addressing Lucien and Kairo, "are fortunate to witness history in motion. Few see the Revenants together, let alone surviving their first clash."
Ashveil's grin returned, bloodied but fierce. "Do not flatter them, brother. They may yet surprise."
Veythar's laugh was low, rich, and terrifyingly confident. "I already know they will. That is why I remain entertained. But every action has consequence. Every strike has meaning. And those who survive… must learn to recognize the difference."
Lucien's eyes narrowed. The battle was far from over. And yet, in these moments, he understood something he had not before: these two weren't just opponents or allies—they were living legends, born of the same source that had forged him, yet shaped by entirely different truths.
Kairo stepped up beside him, blades humming with anticipation. "Then let's see if history favors us today."
Ashveil's cloak snapped once more, the shadows flickering like living serpents. "Follow my lead," he said, voice steady and commanding. "Not for me—but for the storm yet to come."
The desert, once barren, became the stage for their next act. Flames, shadows, void energy, and steel collided in a dance that could bend reality itself. And in the midst of it all, the stories of two brothers—one shadow, one dominion—slowly unfolded before the eyes of the Sole Exception and his companion.